The Vagrants' Fanfiction Discipline
by MUSHROOMS
Summary: PG for possible (but unlikely) foul language... The newest spinoff of Miss Cam's excellentenial OFUM! Read, enjoy, then back away slowly before the minis get you...


Chapter I  
  
Disclaimer: There isn't a heck of a lot in here that's mine. Just Sif, Isilwen, Byrn, Kiyaka, the Demon of Boredom, the Series-related minis, and other stuff that's rather obvious. The whole Idea (with a capital 'I') was Miss Cam's *bow to the great and holy Miss Cam*. She came up with the whole OFU thing, which I hope you know already. Miss Eville is evilgenius92389. Miss Tae is Miste. Miss Shroome is me (duh). Miss Green is Hithwen. The Morris dance is Terry Pratchett's, and I'd also like to thank him for the idea of the cowls. Everything Series-of-Unfortunate-Events-related is Lemony Snicket's. He is a great and holy man. Pippin and Sam are J. R. R. Tolkien's. He is also a great and holy man. Note to all gullible people: the Sunnuvian Dictionary and the Snicket Thesaurus /do not really exist/. Now, wipe up your gullibility and READ MY STORY.  
  
~~~  
  
Sif gathered the two books in her arms and walked to the front desk to pay. She had a spring in her step, which caused her dual ponytails to bounce cheerfully, and an almost unnatural expression of euphoria - a word which here means, "extreme happiness, usually designed to annoy all that come in contact with you"- on her face. When she got to the front desk, there was a line of at least twenty people; where most normal people would've groaned, dropped their books to the floor, stomped on their hat, and stormed out the door to a less crowded bookstore, Sif simply stood in line, staring blankly around her and humming off-tunedly to herself.  
  
When she reached the front of the line at last, she handed the books to the bored, overworked cashier (who looked like she would be more interested in shoveling excrement out of a blocked public toilet), and began to make conversation.  
  
"You know, I absolutely /love/ the Series of Unfortunate Events, and I never thought they'd come out with these books, but they're just nifty! The 'Sunnuvian Dictionary' and the 'Snicket Thesaurus'! I mean, could /you/ have thought of taking all the words Sunny said, defining them, and putting them in a book? It's just super-awesome!"  
  
The cashier rolled her eyes and trying her best not to point out that you didn't have to purchase those books from a store, but could rather simply go through the books and copy the words down. She also refrained from pointing out that anyone who said words like 'nifty' or 'super-awesome' was either an escaped lunatic or else extremely stupid. Glancing down at the titles of the books, the ends of her mouth twitched into something suspiciously like an evil smile.  
  
"Dearie!" she said shortly, interrupting Sif's endless stream of conversation. Once she'd gotten the girl's attention, she smiled sweetly and said, "There's a free pamphlet we're giving out with the purchase of these books. Would you like to take that with you?"  
  
"Oh, of course!" Sif said, not bothering to ask what it was about.  
  
The cashier refrained from explaining that anyone who takes something from a stranger without bothering to ask what it contains is an idiot. She simply handed over an all-grey pamphlet with the silver-engraved words, "Your Application" on the front.  
  
"Enjoy," she said, smiling toothily.  
  
"Thanks, ma'am!"  
  
The cashier winced. /Ma'am?/ she said to herself. /She's worse than I thought. Ditzy /and/ polite./  
  
"Sign here, please." The cashier gestured towards a slip of paper, and Sif pulled out a pink sparkle pen. "Um . . no. Use this." The cashier handed her a simple ballpoint.  
  
Sif proceeded to sign her name, slowly and carefully. The letters were big, round and angelic, usually found on t-shirts that said things like 'Sexy' or '99% Devil'. You'd almost expect there to be sparkles around the signature, and perhaps a little girl with her midriff showing sitting on top of the 'n's in Sif's last name. To top it off, she drew a little heart above the 'i' instead of a dot and drew out /her/ pen again, proceeding to color the heart in.  
  
"Thanks, ma'am!" she said again, grabbing her bag and racing out the door as if there was something after her.  
  
The cashier inspected the signature. /Foolish girl,/ she thought, with grim amusement. /No questions asked? I'm glad we found her./ She put up a sign on her desk. It said, 'Please Go to Next Cashier. I'll Be A While'.  
  
The cashier walked out of the bookstore onto the main road. She whistled piercingly, one long, shrill note.  
  
Something dull and gray, with a small trident, fluttered down from the sky and landed on her shoulder. It rubbed against her cheek in an affectionate, if drab, way.  
  
"It's been quite a week, hasn't it, darling?" the cashier crooned, stroking its sleek, smooth head. It did not have scales, nor fur, nor spines-just smooth, gray, cool skin. "It's been quite a week," she repeated. "But we've done our job, and now the real trouble will begin."  
  
She whistled again, lower this time, and nine figures appeared out of the mist. They were varied; some were tall, some short, some human, some decidedly not. They gathered around the cashier; if you had been anyone but her, you wouldn't have seen them. She liked it that way.  
  
"Are you sure this will work?" asked one of them worriedly. He was short, decidedly stocky, and straw-blond. His ears were also somewhat pointed.  
  
"Moreover, are you sure Sam and I ought to be here?" asked another. He was also short, but not as fat, and younger; his hair was a brown-red and curly, and his ears were pointed as well. "After all, it's not our story."  
  
"Sure you ought to be here! Or, well . ." the cashier said, turning her head towards the speaker. Her eyes glazed over slightly; then she shook her head. /Memento Miss Cam: Remember Miss Cam and her Great and Holy Rules of OFU-Dom./ "You all needed to help me set up. I've explained that already, but . . that's all you need to do. That's all. You can leave now, actually. All the students are assembled, except for this latest weirdo."  
  
"I suppose we ought to," said one, looking at the other. "We're needed at OFUM, and Rosie's expecting again."  
  
"/Again/, Sam? I'm about ready to give Merry all rights to mocking you." The conversation faded slowly, as did the speakers.  
  
"Can I go, too?" asked one of the taller ones. She was tall and thin, wearing long, ridiculous, unnecessary boots, and clothing that, besides being leathery and with lots of buttons, probably made her very cold. "I can't see how I'll be of any help from here on out."  
  
"Yeah, go ahead," said the cashier.  
  
"It has been prophesized, friends," said another in monotone. "We have been chosen to teach those who would not be taught, to show those who would not be shown, and to fix those who would not be fixed." She was tall and thin, with long, flowing gray hair; but she was not old. She was young; in a pouch at her side she carried a small skull, several red and black dripping candles, and a pack of cigarettes. She lit one of these now, using a flame that appeared when she snapped her fingers.  
  
"Isilwen, I keep telling you not to smoke. It's so bad for your lungs, and, incidentally, ours. Also, it's not useful to anyone unless it's green." The cashier looked around expectantly around. Someone was bound to comment on the 'fixed' thing . .  
  
"Fixed? You mean, like, with cats, so they can't have babies? And incidentally, you were asking for that, darlin'." This one was also tall and thin, with longish, messy hair, somewhat reminiscent of Harry Potter, except that she wore a gray cowl and long, bright, tie-died skirt. Under the hood of the cowl, she wore a knit cap and glasses. She giggled, somehow managing to insert menace into the giggle. "I love this! I get to hurt people!"  
  
"Miss Tae, please calm down," said one of the other two cowled figures. She was somewhat shorter, with a slightly evil look in her eyes. Her three freckles danced across her face in an odd parody of the Morris dance, and her lips turned slightly upwards in an evil smirk. Then she blanched, and panicked. "Miss Shroome, I still don't know what my name is going to be! It's almost time to begin and I haven't got a name!"  
  
The cashier thought for a moment. Then she said, "For lack of anything better, how about Miss Eville?"  
  
"Miss /What/?"  
  
"Miss Eville," said the cashier calmly, ignoring the spittle that was dripping from the cowled figure's mouth. "Short, classy and pertinent. Everyone's happy."  
  
"Not /me/," grumbled the girl.  
  
The cashier ignored her. "Miss Eville, have you gathered together the minis?"  
  
The cowled figure brightened. "Yes! They're so sweet. Who'd have thought something that evil and flesh-eating could be so cute?"  
  
The cashier rolled her eyes. "It's a misnomer. I've explained this to you at least seventeen times."  
  
"Umm, actually, it's just a misnomer for the actual creatures, not the minis-which I've explained to /you/ at least seventeen times," said Miss Eville. "And I'd like to vie one last time for the teaching license of flaming class."  
  
The cashier sighed. "Must you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fine, do what you want."  
  
"Ah." The corners of her mouth twitched again. "This promises to be . ." She let the muscles in her face tense into a menacing, toothy leer. " . . /amusing/."  
  
"Hey, hey, can I help?" cried the first cowled figure frantically, a word which here means, "as loudly and shrilly as she could, so as to make sure she got a teaching place in a painful class". "I wanna help, Miss . . er . . Eville . ."  
  
"Please," the other said icily, "do /not/ call me that."  
  
"But you said it was your n-"  
  
"No. I did not. Miss Shroome did. Miss Shroome is not me. Therefore, I did not say it. Capeesh?"  
  
"But if it's your name-"  
  
"I already explained this. It is /not/ my name."  
  
"I don't care, I'll call you that anyway-"  
  
"Shut /up/, Miss Tae!"  
  
"I may be mistaken, but I'm quite sure that there never was any mythology with a shouting match between two cowled figures," said a short figure in a toga. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nope. Never was. Perhaps we could make one up."  
  
"Really?" said Miss Eville asked, slightly breathless from excitement and screaming at Miss Tae. "Perhaps we could make one up /together/! That would be wonderful! It could be called . ."  
  
"It could be called, 'can we /focus/, please'," said the cashier, annoyed, but no one paid any attention to her. /Of course,/ she thought, rolling her eyes. /After all, I'm only the leader of this whole thing. Why listen to /me?//  
  
"It could be called 'The Byrn-Eville Sect'!" Miss Eville continued with glee. "We could-"  
  
"I'm not sure you can just make a mythology up, actually," the short figure said, thinking out loud.  
  
"Oh." Miss Eville looked dejected. "All right."  
  
"What do you /mean/, 'all right'?" Miss Tae said hotly. "Why take /his/ word for it?"  
  
Miss Eville rolled her eyes. "Oh, I dunno, maybe because he's the /muse of mythology/?"  
  
"That's no reason to take orders from him!"  
  
"Sure it is!"  
  
"Oh, please, don't give me that! We're not all stupid!"  
  
Miss Eville thought hard for a few seconds. Then a look of discovery flitted across her face, and she said, beaming as if she'd discovered gold, "I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
Miss Tae was puzzled for a moment, then retorted, beaming as hard as Miss Eville, "I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?" Miss Eville shot back.  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?" Miss Tae challenged.  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
"I know you are, but what am I?"  
  
The cashier turned to the last cowled figure. "Miss Green?" she said softly, so the loud voices of the others drowned her out. Elves enjoy privacy, after all. "You can go back, if you'd like."  
  
"All right." The other cowled figure pushed back her hood and shook her head, dew flying off the tips of her ears like . . well, dew flying off the end of . . well, ears. The ears were slightly pointed at the tips, and the figure had a dark, secret majesty about her. "It's almost time for me to leave anyway. We must make plans."  
  
"As soon as I can return, I will, and I'll help you in as many ways as I can. Don't forget the mushroom pot pies!" she said loudly, as she began to fade slowly. "And tell everyone I'll be back soon for the summer holiday!"  
  
"I will!" she cried as she vanished. /Like /I'd/ forget the mushroom pot pies. Pshaw./  
  
Naturally, the ninth figure, which we have not spoken of yet, could not technically be there, as she was Miss Cam and extremely busy, what with the running of the Official Fanfiction University of Middle-earth and the disciplining of students, to their great displeasure. However, she did send a dark and mysterious figure along, of unknown origin and identity, to stand in her place. The number nine, of course, is very important to all. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I, for instance, make a habit of eating nine of everything, spitting nine times every time I spit once, and reading each sentence of a story nine times. I'm sure you do the same thing.  
  
The cashier breathed nine long, deep breaths and brought out her Verified Flashback Device. Clicking on the "Recruitment" button, she went to her last recruitment. The figure of Sif signing her name came back to her, and she printed it out, using the Visible Figure Documentation feature. She printed it six times and gave one each to Miss Tae, Miss Eville, Byrn, Isilwen, and Miss Cam's mysterious representative. The mysterious representative bowed slightly, then stalked off, limping slightly and favoring his or her left leg.  
  
The cashier kept the last photo, dismissing each of the others to their posts at various bookstores, phone booths, and banana-selling stands. She kept the photo out and pulled out her copy of the girl's signature. "Sif Brennan," she read aloud to herself. "It's such a nice name . . too bad she can't keep it." She grimly crossed out the word 'Sif' on the signature with her own pen, then wrote the name 'Malinda' instead. "You'll have to keep that until you earn your license, dear," she whispered pityingly. "I'm sorry to do it, but it's in The Rules, and The Rules must be followed. Although," she added scornfully, "you were an exceptionally silly girl. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't even look at the fine print before you sign."  
  
~~~  
  
Sif didn't even look at the fine print before she signed. The first thing that drew her eyes was the photograph at the bottom of the page. The photograph was of a photograph of a dark outline, most likely Lemony Snicket, from her limited experience. It seemed very familiar, for some reason. The next thing that drew her eyes was the photograph at the bottom of the page. It seemed to be a gathering of the Baudelaires, Quagmires, V. F. D. members, guardians, and various other characters from the Series. What drew her eyes most in that photograph was, unfortunately, Klaus Baudelaire. She did not bother to notice that there were people, and creatures, in that picture that had died long ago, or that Sunny had shined her teeth for the occasion, or that Violet and Quigley were standing exceptionally far apart, seeming to want to make an impression, or that there were people, and creatures, in the picture that had not, in fact, appeared yet. She only had eyes for the bespectacled - a word which, used here, means, "wearing glasses in the unfortunate fashion that causing swooning and possibly allergic reactions from fangirls and overly allergic people"-Klaus.  
  
The final things that drew Sif's eye were the questions in the center of the page. They were the only areas of writing, besides the fine print, which she did not look at, on the page. She read the first question to herself. "What is your fake name (real name not required)?"  
  
"This is even more interesting than I thought it would be!" she exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands in an extremely juvenile - a word which here means, "childish or immature, which makes no sense, since children are often much smarter than the adults around them" - manner. She scribbled, in her round, sparkle-wanting handwriting, "Sif Brennan."  
  
Of course, if someone you do not know does not ask you for your first name and you volunteer it, then you are acting extremely foolishly or else they have a weasel pointed at your head, in which case you will most likely say everything that comes to mind. However, Sif did not apparently know about this factor, and also did not know that one should pay attention when one writes one's name on a mysterious piece of paper. Had she known these things, she most likely would have noticed the "Sif Brennan" in round, clear script changing to "Malinda" in archaic, blurred, and crabbed cursive. She would also have noticed the small note, in the same handwriting, saying, "You must earn yourself again. Signing here signifies that you do not hold the Vagrants' Fanfiction Discipline responsible for injury, sadness, loss, death, fire, or coincidental acronyms involving three letters." This, of course, was the small print, but we've already been over the fact that she did not read it. Instead, she went straight on the rest of the questions, filling them out quickly as she went.  
  
Any interesting stuff about you: "I think the Series of Unfortunate Events is absolutely nifty! Also, I own several fish, one cat and a dust bunny. I am an optimist."  
  
Lust object (if you don't have one, maybe you could make one up . .?): "Klaus Baudelaire!"  
  
Most annoying character in Series: "Anyone who doesn't like Klaus."  
  
Question you'd most like to have answered about Series: "Is Klaus going to get married?"  
  
Favorite books in Series: "All of them, especially the ones where Klaus is prominent."  
  
Thirteen words to describe yourself: "Someone who loves loves loves loves loves loves loves loves loves Klaus Baudelaire!"  
  
Weakness: "Klaus Baudelaire!"  
  
Greatest fear: "Not ever reading a book about Klaus Baudelaire again!"  
  
Member of VFD: "Since Klaus is not a member of VFD, I'd have to say Jacques Snicket."  
  
Do you have anything Count Olaf would consider worth stealing?: "Only my love for Klaus Baudelaire."  
  
Would you like to work for/Are you working for Count Olaf?: "Goodness me, no! Why should I?"  
  
Do you have any freakish qualities, eg, pointed toes, eye hair, obnoxious voice?: "I have only normal features, except for my left big toe, which contains one toe hair more than my other big toe."  
  
Who is your favorite Quagmire triplet/Baudelaire sibling/member of Olaf's troupe?: "My favorite Quamire triplet is Quigley, my favorite Baudelaire sibling is Klaus, and my favorite member of Olaf's troop is the one that looks like neither a man nor a woman, since there is no way they could ever hurt my dearest Klaus."  
  
What is the worst sound in the world to you?: "The sound of crying."  
  
Do you often make mountains out of molehills?: "Well, does losing my makeup count as a mountain? Because that is definitely a mountain for me."  
  
Who is the most obnoxious person in the world? (Note: If you say it is I, it may cause severe repercussions and crochet lessons with Miss Tae) Hint: "I'd rather eat a bowl of vampire bats..." "I am not sure what you are trying to convey about vampire bats. I am also not precisely aware who Miss Tae is. In any case, the most obnoxious person in the world to me is anyone who does not like Klaus Baudelaire. Anyone who does not like Klaus Baudelaire is an absolutely horrid person."  
  
Do you like inventing/reading/biting/other things?: "I like to read and stalk Klaus Baudelaire."  
  
Are you fond of couplets/reporting/mapmaking?: "I enjoy writing romantic couplets to Klaus."  
  
Have you read all the books? If not, which ones have you not read?: "I have read all the books."  
  
Have you ever had an odd lust for Sunny Baudelaire? "No, I cannot say that I have."  
  
Why do you write SoUE fic? Why do you want to join Vagrants' Fanfiction Discipline?: "I write fic because I love my Klausie-baby! I do not know what the Vagrants' Fanfiction Discipline is. It sounds interesting, though."  
  
Whatever else you want to put: "I love Klaus Baudelaire! Woohoo!! ;P"  
  
Now, as we know, normal people never use more than one exclamation point. It is simply superfluous, a word which here means "extraordinarily unnecessary and useless punctuation". Nifty, as is known, is a ridiculous word to use, when there are so many more intelligent-sounding synonyms. Horrid is a simplistic term for horrible, used often by females to ensure that surrounding males are aware of their fragility, even if they are two- hundred-pound wrestlers. Also, one can never own a cat. They own themselves, and being an optimist is sure to bring you down. It is also extremely juvenile to put a punctuation-smiley face at the end of your sentence, particularly if you are writing by hand.  
  
Sif, of course, did not know this. She simply put the pen and the paper aside, picked up the 'Sunnuvian Dictionary' and read a few pages, then fell asleep with it still open on her chest, still completely clothed and without any cleaning of teeth or face, which is an extremely unhygienic thing to do.  
  
~~~  
  
She was awakened extremely rudely when someone grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her out of the house and through the garden to a black Jeep parked in the gravel driveway. The moon, Sif saw as she craned her neck to try to glimpse her kidnappers, was grey.  
  
Her parents and younger brother were standing by the black Jeep.  
  
"Sif, I'm so /sorry/!" sobbed her mother. "If I'd only known that you were writing bad fic . . I would've /done/ something! Oh, /Howard/!" She turned her head and began to dampen her husband's shirt sleeve.  
  
"Sif, I am extremely disappointed," said her father sternly, turning his eyes away so Sif could not see his tears of fear. "This will do you good . ." He trailed off.  
  
"Mom, Dad, what's going on?" Sif asked, beginning to panic. The moon went behind a cloud, and she was thrown into the backseat of the Jeep.  
  
"Quirayow," said her brother, rolling his eyes. It meant something along the lines of, "My sister is so weird. She also happens to be an idiot, but I'm not commenting on that at this moment."  
  
Sif gasped and stuck her head out of the car. "You . . you just said something . . Sunnuvian!"  
  
He rolled his eyes again. "Goo ga gwa!" he said with annoyance. It meant something like, "Of course I did. Just because I'm a baby, everyone thinks I'm stupid or something."  
  
Just then, her ankle-napper reappeared and shoved her further into the Jeep.  
  
"Goodbye, dear!" sobbed her parents. "Good luck!"  
  
"Circus!" shouted her brother, meaning something like, "Have fun and much pain!"  
  
Then the Jeep turned on with some difficulty and sped off, spewing dust and gravel behind it.  
  
Someone turned on the car light.  
  
"Hello, my /dear/," said a voice that positively /smacked/ of cruelty.  
  
Sif turned slowly, eyes wide with fear, and got her first look at her kidnapper.  
  
It was a girl, only a bit older than her, rather Harry Potter-ish around the glasses, wearing a knit cap under her gray cowl and a tie-dyed skirt. Her face was plastered with a seemingly permanent evil smirk.  
  
"So, you don't know who I am?" she purred, eyes half-closed, staring at Sif like a sadistic cat stares at a mouse.  
  
"N-no, m-m-ma'am," stuttered Sif, with as much of a voice as she could muster.  
  
"Well, I can assure you, /darling/," purred the girl, "that you will, before long. Call me Miss Tae, and do not cross me. You have entered the Vagrants' Fanfiction Discipline."  
  
The girl sank back into her cowl. The only thing visible from beneath the gray fabric was a slight gleam of teeth. The arm of the cowl waved something at Sif.  
  
There was a picture of Lemony Snicket's outline. There was a picture of various Series characters. And in the very center of the page, terrifyingly familiar to her, was her own handwriting.  
  
"Welcome," said the girl called Miss Tae, "to school."  
  
~~~  
  
A/N: How'd I do? Someone better review this, or I swear I'll scream.  
  
A Miss Eville/Miss Tae Anecdote: "It takes 40-some muscles to frown and only 17 to smile. On the other hand, it takes 70-some to scream in terror and pain. Why go for laziness?" 


End file.
